


Preferences

by CaptAcorn



Series: Home [5]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Family, Humor, Other poor choices, Temptation, dieting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn
Summary: The fifth story in my Home series. Rumor has it, Tom Paris was supposed to be the ladies’ man of Voyager. But then, as a someone once so eloquently put it: RDM played him like a middle school teacher. Yes, there was Ex Post Facto and then... one holographic woman he had programmed to hang on him and a fairly chaste kiss with Rain Robinson. Harry got more action than pre-B’Elanna Tom did (as did Chakotay. And the Doctor. And maybe Neelix, too...)Clearly, in his heart of hearts (and let’s ignore Vis a Vis because I hate it), Tom Paris is a family man.Unfortunately, his newest employee hasn’t figured this out yet...





	Preferences

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to everyone that's read and commented so far! While the stories all build on each other, they can be read as stand alone pieces as well. Please see acknowledgments in the first story, Fresh Start.

 

"You've gained another two kilograms, Mr. Paris," the EMH said, making no attempt to hide his disgust.

"What?" Tom squawked. "How is that possible? I'm not eating nearly as much pizza as I used to. And I started running again!"

The Doctor frowned. "If you're eating even half as much of Maggio's finest as you used to, it's still too much. And when, exactly, did you start running?" he queried, looking critically at his patient's cardiovascular readings.

"Yesterday," Tom answered in a small voice. "I know, I know," he said more loudly at the Doctor's exasperated expression. "I'll try harder, I swear. I don't need the lecture again."

"These two kilograms say you do!" the hologram insisted, waving his tricorder at him. "Your wife doesn't seem to have this issue. She's the same size as the day she stepped on  _Voyager_."

Tom hopped off the biobed-cum-torture device, and put on his jacket. "That's not a fair comparison! She has Klingon genetics on her side! Have you seen the way she eats? I can barely keep up! It's no wonder I can't keep my weight down."

"It is possible — and advisable, I might add — that you eat only to satisfy your own nutritional needs and not because of some absurd competition with your spouse." The Doctor directed a pointed look at Tom's efforts to pull his jacket closed over his midsection. "In fact, if I were in B'Elanna's shoes, I would likely be even more invested in you improving your eating habits."

"What are you trying to imply, Doc?" Tom asked, finally giving up on the jacket and letting it hang open.

"Oh nothing, really," the hologram said as he turned over to one of the diagnostic monitors. "Just that she'd likely prefer her husband stay in good health. I'm sure she still finds you very attractive."

Tom gaped at him. "You're one to talk!"

The Doctor turned his head to glare at him. "Excuse me, Mr. Paris?"

"You could choose to look like anything! You could be a holographic Adonis if you wanted! And instead you're… " He paused. The Doc was arrogant, condescending, and seemed to get particular joy out of needling Tom at every opportunity. But he'd also been recently dumped by his girlfriend of five months for another, much younger (appearing) man — a popular holonovel model that had starred in the Doc's latest magnum opus, no less. Tom, with no small effort, bit his tongue. "Forget it. I've gotta run anyway. I'm interviewing a new test pilot."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Again? What was wrong with the last one? Or the two before him?"

"Kids these days," Tom grumbled. "They've got no work ethic! They're all so entitled! Let me put it this way — it's pretty obvious why they were on the job market. I'm at the point where I might need to go back to doing it myself, your preferences aside."

Tom could almost see the Doc's photons vibrating with alarm. "It's not a preference, Mr. Paris! It's a medical reality! Your visual acuity has declined by six percent, and the only thing you need less than more pizza is further head trauma. One more concussion, and you risk— "

Tom made a dismissive gesture at the hologram as he made his way to the door. "I know, I know. It was a joke. Does B'Elanna call you up before these exams and ask you to nag me so she doesn't have to?"

"It was Miral, actually!" the Doc called after him as he headed down the corridor.

That was six weeks ago. Now, only two pizza slices (OK, three. Maybe three and a half.) and many hours of running and weight training later, Tom had lost not only those two kilos, but another three for good measure. Easy as pie! No, not pie. Something else. Something healthier.

But easy as kale didn't quite have the same ring to it, did it? Tom sighed and tried to think of something other than the fact that now he really wanted pie as he finished his morning run. He'd taken to jogging the hilly six kilometers from their home in La Jolla to the office ever since the Doctor's latest screed against his expanding waistline.

"Morning, Chad," Tom said to their administrative assistant as he entered the front door of the design firm he ran with B'Elanna.

"Looking good, Boss," Chad replied, pushing forward a tray containing some of the famous blueberry scones the younger man often baked at home. "You want one? You've been working hard - I think you deserve it."

"No!" Tom backed away from the desk. "What are you trying to do to me?"

Chad only laughed in response. Of course, he thought it was funny. He was twenty-eight and had the metabolism to show for it. Tom made his way back towards their airy central drafting room, where he'd be able to get away from the alluring smell of scones and likely find his wife.

She was bent over their latest project — a new shuttlecraft commissioned by Starfleet — with their newest test pilot. Tom's complaints to the Doc aside, he knew having someone else take over the bulk of the flying, particularly during the earliest and riskiest testing phases, was the right thing to do. He wasn't the same pilot he'd been twenty or even five years ago — his reflexes were slower, he was less inclined to push the envelope like he used to. It had been hard to admit, but the cold reality was: Tom Paris was past his prime, at least when it came to flying.

Fortunately, he'd finally found someone that he could trust in the cockpit. Afreen was great. She was funny, and spirited, and not a bit afraid of his frequently intimidating spouse. She'd gotten through three years of the Academy with flying colors, but had been unhappy with the rigidity that came with 'Fleet service. Typical commercial piloting didn't appeal to her much, either; so here she was. She was also the youngest person on their staff - many of them former 'Fleet officers that had decided they wanted more stability than a life in the military could give them. Everyone liked having her around - it had livened the place up a little.

Tom put a finger to his lips to keep the grinning Afreen quiet as he snuck up behind his wife and went in for a kiss to her neck.

Only to get an elbow to the gut. "I could smell you before you got through the door, Tom," B'Elanna said without even looking at him. "You aren't allowed within three meters of me until you shower."

"Boo," said Tom with a pout as he changed course towards his office. "You used to like it when I was all sweaty."

"My tastes have refined with age," she retorted. "Oh, and Chad made scones. I told him to save you one."

"Sabotage!" he cried in return. Considering how much B'Elanna was after him to eat healthier, she wasn't very good about not plying him with all his favorite foods.

Later in the day, over a working lunch (Replicated salad — couldn't be healthier! And only half a scone.) he met with Afreen about an upcoming test flight. "I was able to book some time in the Belt on Sunday. You mind giving up some of your weekend? Otherwise we can't get in for another ten days."

"No, of course not!" she said eagerly. Tom wasn't surprised - the young woman had been itching to get the short range racing ship out of the shuttlebay and into space. She suddenly looked a bit confused, though. "I thought you were busy this weekend," she said. "That you and B'Elanna were going to Phuket for your anniversary."

"Postponed," Tom sighed. "When she's knee deep in a new design, it's hard to get her to come up for air - even for a weekend. Plus Joe has a poetry reading Saturday. And by that I mean it's Open Mic night at Verbatim Books." He shook his head. "I love my son, but the day he figures out he's the galaxy's cheesiest poet can't come soon enough for me."

"But it's your wedding anniversary!" she protested.

Tom smiled at her. "Our twenty-first, Afreen. We're long past the point where we have to make a big deal out of every little milestone. We'll just grab a nice dinner around here - it's fine."

She let it go, but her brow was still furrowed. "I'm a little surprised you're giving me this flight. I know how much you want to get at the helm of this one."

"I made a promise to B'Elanna. And Miral, and Joe, and the Doc," he said. "I'll take it for a spin once we've worked out the kinks. I can be patient… when sufficiently bullied into it," he added with a grin.

"We'll be the only ones out there," Afreen said, with a conspiratorial smile. "It can be our secret. I've been wanting to watch the master at work, after all."

Tom laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere with me, but I don't think I've been the master for a few years now. Nope - time for new blood. You'll put it through its paces far better than I would at this point. I'll stay on the sidelines - where B'Elanna likes to remind me I belong now."

So bright and early Sunday morning, (after a terrible night in which he discovered that, in fact, his son was  _not_  the galaxy's worst poet after all), he and Afreen brought the small racer out to the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, for the first test of its speed and maneuverability. Tom whistled in appreciation from his seat at the helm of the firm's runabout, impressed by Afreen's tight handling of the ship.

"I'll die before I admit to saying this," he told her through the open comm link. "But you just might be a better pilot than me."

"Flattery will get you everywhere with me, too!" she called back to him, and he could practically hear the adrenaline in her voice as she went into a sharp roll. God, he missed flying like that.

The test flight came to an end, and Tom started to organize the telemetry. Fortunately, there was rather more good news than bad, which would definitely help his wife's mood. She'd found several major issues during the computer modeling of a new 'Fleet shuttle design, and being forced to listen to four hours of mediocre poetry last night had not done much to cheer her up.

"That was incredible!" Afreen enthused as she entered the runabout's cockpit, near breathless with her excitement.

"You were incredible." Tom smiled at her, as he swung his chair around. "The 'Fleet must be kicking themselves that they let you go." He stood to help stow the emergency gear and EVA suit they took on board all of their test flights.

And found himself in a tight embrace.  _Wow_ , he thought as he lightly patted Afreen's back.  _That must have been a hell of a flight._

Then she kissed him.

"Whoa, there," Tom said hurriedly, breaking free of her arms. "Um, I'm pretty sure you're aware of this already, given she's one of your bosses and all, but I'm married."

That didn't seem to deter her, as she took a step to close the gap between them. "I'm well aware," she purred. "But I'm also aware that I'm very good at keeping secrets."

Tom backed up until he had run up right against the pilot's seat. He kept his hands outstretched in front of him to try to ward Afreen off. She walked right into them. With her breasts. He quickly crossed his arms across his chest. "There's no secret to keep, Afreen. You're a really wonderful girl… woman. But this is not going to happen. I am very much in love with my wife."

"But does she love you, Tom?" she asked, her voice husky and her face only centimeters from his. "The way you deserve to be loved, I mean? I've heard the way she talks to you. I've seen the way she treats you. It seems like she'd rather be with her engines than her husband. Her very attractive husband."

"That's just the way we are with each other," he stammered. "We've been together a long time — relationships evolve over twenty plus years. You'll see when you find someone. Someone other than me, I mean."

"Or maybe you've just been together so long," she said, now tracing a finger down his chest, "that you've forgotten there can be another way. Come on, Tom. Don't act like you haven't felt it — the spark between us. All the compliments you keep giving me— "

"On your piloting!"

"The way you've been working out since I started, losing all that weight— "

"Because I'm worried B'Elanna thinks I'm letting myself go!" Tom's voice had reached octaves he hadn't seen since he was twelve. Deciding he needed to take a little more control of the situation, he skirted around the pilot's chair, gripping it firmly to keep it in between him and Afreen. "Look, I'm really sorry if I've given you the wrong impression, but I promise you: I love my wife. A lot. And you… you're a good kid and all, but you're also only a few years older than my daughter. There are a lot more fish in the sea. Multiple oceans worth, really. I am one hundred percent sure you can do better than a semi-retired pilot pushing fifty-five."

Thankfully, something he said had finally gotten through to the young woman, and her shoulders drooped. "This," she said, gesturing around the cockpit, "it really was just about the test flight?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed in relief as he sank into the chair. "A thousand times yes!"

Afreen bit her lower lip. "Are you going to tell B'Elanna what I did?"

"No," Tom assured her, shaking his head. "This can be our secret."

"Oh my God, B'Elanna," he said the second he entered his family room late that afternoon. "You are never going to believe what happened on that test flight."

"If it's bad news," B'Elanna said, throwing her head back onto the couch, "can it wait until tomorrow? I've had just about all I can take with this damn 'Fleet shuttle." She threw the PADD she'd been reading onto the coffee table.

Tom took a seat next to her on the couch and pushed gently on her back until she leaned forward. He started to rub her shoulders. "That bad, huh?"

She groaned, in some combination of frustration and pleasure at the firm pressure he was applying to her back. "The worst. I think we're going to have to start from scratch with the warp drive." She shifted to direct his hands to her desired spots. "But that can wait. Tell me about the test flight."

"I'm wondering if we need to let Afreen go," he started.

"Another one? I thought you liked her," B'Elanna said, half turning to him, her eyebrows drawing together.

"I do," Tom replied. "Or I did. Unfortunately, the feeling is mutual. A little too mutual for my taste." He told her of Afreen's proposition on the roundabout.

B'Elanna's response was to bust out laughing. "Oh my God, Tom! She did not really ask you if I love you the way you deserve to be loved! You're making that up. No one would seriously say that."

He frowned at her. "That's it? You're not angry? Not even a little bit? You're not going to grab the  _bat'leth_  and fight for your man? Defend my honor?"

She continued to giggle at him. "Are you hurt?" she asked him. "Did you want me to be jealous?"

"Maybe. At least a little bit." He threw himself back into the couch and crossed his arms. "She  _did_ call me very attractive."

B'Elanna tugged at his arm until he wrapped it around her and she leaned into his chest. "The only reason I'm not fluorescent green with jealousy," she said into his ear, "is because I have complete and total faith in the man I chose to be my husband."

"Oh," Tom said, smiling into her hair. "That's nice to hear."

"I made reservations for us tonight at Toca Madera," B'Elanna told him. "We haven't been there in ages, and I know it's your favorite."

"Ugh," Tom said. "But you know I can never decide between the mole and the tamales."

"So get both," she shrugged. "That's what you always do."

"But my diet…" he trailed off, his brain now distracted by thoughts of carnitas.

"About that," B'Elanna said, sitting up. "I don't want to discourage you from being healthier — you  _were_  eating too much pizza — but maybe you've taken it a little too far. Eating one of Chad's scones once in a while is not going to kill you. No matter what the Doctor says."

He pulled her back into his arms. "Thank God. I wasn't sure how sustainable this new, healthier me was anyway."

She poked his midsection gently. "Besides," she added with a grin. "More of you to love."

Before Tom could formulate a suitably offended retort, B'Elanna pressed her lips against his. "That reservation isn't for another two hours," she murmured as she pulled back only a centimeter or two.

"What about Joe?" Tom asked her, stroking her hair with his hand.

"Writing workshop," she said. "He's gone for hours."

"I never thought I'd be happy to hear he's writing more poetry," Tom said leaning forward for another kiss.

"Bite your tongue," his wife scolded, tracing his jawline with a finger.

"Oh, I think I'll get up to all kinds of biting," Tom said with a glint in his eye. "Just give me some time."

**The End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Coming next week! Release


End file.
